For dedicated Pythonites, the meaning of life is 'Monty Python's Flying
Circus.' That's fair enough, especially for fans of absurdist comedy
that attacks everything in sight. The troupe of six writer/actors--five
Englishmen (Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Jones, Eric Idle and
Michael Palin) and one American (Terry Gilliam, who also serves as
animator)--had moments of unsurpassed brilliance. It's impressive,
though not surprising, to see how perfectly undated 'Monty Python's The
Meaning of Life' holds up 15 years after its theatrical release.

Like the TV show, 'Monty Python's Flying Circus,' 'The Meaning of Life'
is made up of a number of wildly different segments (though some are
linked by the unexpected appearance of a returning character or design
device). The look of each sequence is different. Gilliam gets to show
off his original vision of a rickety English office building gliding
through a city of ruined monolithic skyscrapers in Chapter 1's
16-minute opener, 'The Crimson Permanent Assurance,' about a literally
piratical accounting firm, while in Chapter 7's 'The Middle of the
Film,' we're treated to '60s avant-garde pop art.

The film is convulsively funny, as well as being entirely outrageous in
every sense of the word. 'The Meaning of Life' contains a wide enough
variety of material to virtually insure that every viewer will at some
point be outraged, by precisely the same gag that causes yet another to
keel over laughing. Highlights include Chapter 4, set in 'The Third
World,' (aka Yorkshire), with a devastating lampoon of Catholic Church
procreative doctrine in the guise of an 'Oliver!'-like musical number,
which sounds just like a real show tune; Chapter 12's Grim Reaper
encountering partygoers, who believe he's a gardener; and Chapter 10's
restaurant diner Mr. Creosote (Jones, who also directed), a scene that
can still proudly hold its own as one of the grossest sequences in film
comedy history.

Python purists may note that 'The Meaning of Life' isn't quite as
hysterical as the group's two more narratively linear features, 'Monty
Python and the Holy Grail' and 'Monty Python's The Life of Brian,'
perhaps because the sketch structure doesn't allow the deft building of
gag upon gag. Still, we get all those things we look to Python for:
Cleese's megalomaniacal authority figures; Jones's frumpy housewives;
Idle's smarmy good-sports-in-the-face-of-tragedy and breezy musical
insanities; Chapman's stuffy upper-crust men and daffy drag figures;
the twinkly-eyed versatility of Palin; Gilliam's visual surprises.
('Max Headroom' fans should look for Matt Frewer in the opening segment
as a cornered accountant.)

Throughout the film, a sextet of fish in a tank (played by the Pythons,
courtesy of Gilliam's effects) keep grumbling about when the movie will
get around to the meaning of life. At the climax, this is finally
revealed. The Pythons have a well-deserved reputation for savaging
anything faintly resembling sentiment. That they state the meaning of
life without mockery, albeit very quickly, is as much a mark of daring
as anything else they do here.